


Wilde Jagd

by ConAndOnAndOn



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fae AU, Fairies, Fantasy, Fantasy AU, Mystery, detective!reader, fae
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-08-29 12:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16744093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConAndOnAndOn/pseuds/ConAndOnAndOn
Summary: Modern Fantasy AU where androids aren't a thing but fairies certainly are and that's more than dangerous enough for you. You do your job as a detective and pretend you don't see certain things that make some case reports an exercise in creative writing. You aren't the only one in Detroit that keeps a hunk of bread in their pocket or prefers jewelry made of iron but people don't talk about it- not any louder than hushed whispers anyway. You're surviving somehow in this crazy world as someone gifted or cursed with the Sight, but then you make several very stupid mistakes leading up to meeting your new 'partner', who calls himself 'Connor' but won't say that it's his name...





	1. Mistakes

Small twigs snapped under the tires of your bicycle as you pedaled along the trail. The trees threw moon-cast shadows that reached for you and the air all around became thick and heavy until it caught in your throat. You stopped.

 

You cast your gaze to the cloud-strewn sky and found the moon full.

 

"Shit."

 

This was your first mistake. Most were wary enough of the fair folk to stay away from forested areas after dark. As someone with the Sight you scoffed at the idea of passing up such a convenient shortcut through what you knew was a relatively safe area most nights. There might be a few pixies or sprites around Palmer Park, a minor boggart or two at worst. A chunk of bread in your pocket and the iron chain around your neck was enough to keep away any mischief-makers.

 

Tonight was not most nights. Tonight was a full moon and you mentally castigated yourself for forgetting as such. It wasn't guaranteed that the lunar phase would bring anything particularly dangerous out, but the tenuous veil between realms was at its thinnest and the palpable energy in the air certainly promised nothing good. You took a moment to remove your jacket, flip it inside out and put it back on. Not that it would do much.

  

You padded forward cautiously, guiding your bike alongside as silently as possible. As much as it was in your best interest to get yourself as far away as possible as quickly as possible, it felt wrong- too conspicuous- to continue cycling. Perhaps it was the magic, pushing down on your limbs and lapping at the edges of your mind, making your thoughts blur sleepily, pleasantly. You reached into your pocket to clutch the piece of bread and your wits sharpened, but only by a hair.

 

Your legs began to buckle under the haze and you clutched lamely at the nearest tree trunk, stumbling into its support. _Not rowan, rowan would be better_. But it at least offered support as your body threatened to succumb to the soporific energy of the forest. Perhaps it would have been better to surrender to the spell, fall unconscious and sleep unnoticed on the dark ground- because that is when you made your second mistake.

 

You heard the murmurs, the tinkling of bells, the faint panting of the hounds and you _looked_. The scene was beautiful and grand, an ethereal light surrounded the procession- one not meant to be seen by mortal eyes. A cavalcade of diverse figures passed through the trees, most at least vaguely humanoid but varying wildly in size and build anywhere from under a foot to over nine. Some rode on horseback, some walked on bare feet, and others- a few of the smaller ones- flitted about, suspended by gossamer wings.

 

You should have looked away immediately but you were spellbound as your eyes landed on him. He was beautiful, almost human in appearance but also decidedly _not_. He sat stoically astride a white pony, short dark hair ornamented with flowers, insect wings, and a several minuscule yet intricate braids. The garments he wore might have been woven from stained glass and starlight, and his eyes- his eyes were chocolate pools that seemed to catch the light and refract it into a shimmering rainbow of hues. Those eyes met yours- placid, hollow, with something that might have been sadness that seemed to bleed through before you broke away from the gaze with a jolt.

 

He'd seen you. He'd seen you and he'd seen that you'd seen him. You were definitely _royally_ screwed, you realized, clutching hard at the bread and shaking off the fogginess of mind and body as best as you could. You marched away, breaking into a run before throwing yourself into the seat of your bike and pedaling for your life.

 

Fae weren't known to be overly fond of mortals with your sort of _gifts_. Some made themselves known to all eyes but what you had just witnessed was something meant to remain hidden. And human eyes which saw things that belonged solely to the _Elswhere_ , well you were lucky if they just decided on taking your eyes and not the rest of you with them.

 

You didn't look back once as you pedaled frantically, your heart lifting as the trees parted to reveal your apartment building in the distance. You launched yourself toward the safety of streetlights and hurtled across the stretch of asphalt separating you from your place of residence. You dashed into the lobby and didn't stop to breathe until the elevator doors closed and you slammed the button for the fourth floor.

 

You'd made it out of the woods. Maybe you were safe.

 

————

 

The next day came and you tried to be cautiously optimistic that the whole incident was behind you. You decided it would be better to avoid Palmer Park for a while and maybe you'd give your door and window frames another coat of paint with salt and iron filings mixed in. As you dressed for the day you half considered wearing all of your clothes inside out but airing on the side of _not_ broadcasting yourself as a paranoid weirdo to everyone at work decided against it.

 

So when you arrived at the police station it was with your clothes turned right-side-out; the visible ones anyway. Before heading to your desk you swung by the break room to grab a coffee and to steal some of those little packets of salt to shove in your pocket, _just in case_. You were still a bit distracted as you plodded to your desk which is why you weren't quite looking where you were going and rammed straight into a solid wall of person.

     

At the sudden impact your hand released its precious caffeinated cargo, but faster than you could process another hand caught the cup before it could spill a drop.

  

"Wow! Thanks!" you gasped out without yet looking up. Those words were you third and worst mistake you realized as you met the face of the figure before you.

 

Dark hair, styled neatly. A grey jacket over a white shirt and black tie. Impassive eyes that couldn't quite settle on brown as a color. He looked different- different enough not to seem utterly out of place in the police precinct- but it was him. Different enough to pass as a normal human being to most eyes- but it was _him_. And you had thanked him. You had thanked him. Oh you were so screwed.

 

"Hello, Detective (L/N)," the creature before you intoned with a small not-quite smile. "I've been assigned to work with you and Lieutenant Anderson on your current cases for the time being."

 

You swallowed drily before replying with a rather loaded question, some small part of you hoping you were hallucinating or mistaken or _something_ , and the man in front of you wasn't some unknowable being sent after you to blind you or kill you or - worse. "Oh? W-what's your name?"

 

"You may call me Connor."

 

_Shit_.

 


	2. Avoidance

" _You may call me Connor."_

_Shit._

 

—

   

Ok this was fine. This was totally fine, you told yourself as your blood ran cold at the words of the being in front of you whose named was certainly not Connor. He hadn't said "I'm Connor" or "My name is Connor." Fae didn't give their true names carelessly because names held power for them. And most types held a distaste for lying that gave their words a calculated quality. You had to be very exact with their words and your own- oh boy, _your_ words.

 

You'd thanked him. You hadn't seen it was him and the words had just slipped out! How were you supposed to expect anything _here of all places?_ \- the middle of the Detroit central police station where the only exception to the mundane was the brownie behind the vending machine you _occasionally_ left a thimble of milk for (and _occasionally_ the next day Gavin would faceplant into the floor finding his shoelaces tied together- interesting coincidence that). But Connor was no vaguely harmless brownie. He looked mostly human- or like someone wearing human skin that didn't quite fit right if the way he held himself was anything to go by. He was standing fairly close to you despite the minor protections you kept on your person. Worst of all you'd seen him in that procession in the light of a full moon in Palmer Park, seated on a pure white pony- he belonged to the Court.

 

And you'd _thanked_ him. Which meant you owed him a Debt. It was such a _stupid_ minor thing you'd said it for but a thank you to the fair folk was an acknowledgement of a Debt owed, unspecified in value. Might as well have handed him your soul on a silver platter.

 

You'd frozen in place as you rushed to process everything. Surely he was here for you but he'd mentioned Hank and being 'assigned' to your cases- all part of a ruse to lure you alone somewhere or was he after something else?

 

"Do you know where the Lieutenant is? He doesn't appear to be at his desk," Connor broke the silence.

 

You sucked in a breath. "Nope! Uh, he's probably off somewhere- who even knows? No telling with him when he'll show up for work so um- if you'll excuse me there's something I have to do real quick. Somewhere else." You probably should be a little more careful with what you were saying but you'd entered fight-or-flight mode a while back and after spinning a bit the wheel had landed patently on flight, causing words to tumble out of your mouth like rings out of a video-game hedgehog.

 

"Of course," Connor replied as you scurried away. In your mad dash to hide and panic in the bathroom you almost missed the slightly lost look in his eyes.

 

———

 

 _Ding_!

You grabbed your phone off the edge of your desk and quickly swiped it open to read a reply to the text you'd sent off what felt like eons ago but must have been only a couple of hours.

 

** Hank **

_Why the hell not_

   

Your eyes flitted to Connor who hovered beside your desk, not having moved from the spot since you'd settled into your desk chair yourself. After your initial panic you'd collected yourself to do several things, the first being to text the lieutenant suggesting he _maybe_ consider not coming in today. He wasn't exactly a shining model of attendance as it was, but of course he was being contrary about it.

 

I'll explain later, you shot off another text quickly, placing your phone facedown on the desk once again. Hopefully Connor hadn't caught sight of the exchange on the screen, though you weren't sure he actually understood what a phone was you realized when you noticed his stony facade crack for a moment to eye the handheld device curiously. The second thing you'd done was ask around the precinct about your new bestest friend 'Connor'. Judging by the way the air seemed to slightly shift and shimmer around him when you squinted he had some kind of charm or something on him that had allowed him to stroll into the station without anyone batting an eye. Your recon confirmed as much when anyone you asked seemed utterly convinced he was the new transfer from another precinct and _hadn't_ there been a memo about that a few days ago? _No there wasn't_ , you knew but arguing would have been pointless.

  

You considered just slipping away and going home, but what would that solve really? Fowler would be pissed if you just skipped out on work for no reason and you highly doubted Connor would just disappear in the night without getting whatever it was he was after. So you did your best to pretend everything was normal, sat yourself down at your desk and proceeded to try and chip away at your backlog of paperwork and ignore the statue-like figure installed beside your desk.

 

_Ping!_

 

** Hank **

_quit being cryptic kid or ill have to actually drive down there_

 

Yup, contrary. You rolled your eyes and typed, _one of our Friends is here._

 

** Hank **

_shit. boggart?_

 

** (Y/N) **

_Nope, something big_

 

**Hank**

_omw_

 

You huffed out a sigh. If you were being honest you were a little relieved Hank was coming. You were concerned about Connor's apparent interest in him _especially_ considering what you knew of the older man's history with the Fae, but he was your partner and the only other person on the force with an ounce of the Sight in him. Somehow that added up to you two always getting the weird cases; whether that was by luck or some force of nature you were never quite certain.

 

Later you'd regret having that thought because your next case was going to be a weird one. Weird and bad. Really bad.

 

 


	3. (0, 0, 0)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so incredibly much for the response to this, I’m not very confident about my writing and was pretty nervous posting it honestly but I’m blown away by the nice comments I’m so happy some people are enjoying it!

This might be the most awkward car ride of your life you mused, glaring out the window and trying to ignore the tense mood inside the vehicle. Hank had barely arrived at the station- a bewildered glance thrown between you and Connor- before all three of you'd been called into Fowler's office. The captain saw fit to introduce Connor properly as your new partner and order your newly formed trio to an apparently pretty grisly crime scene. This went over about as well as one could expect, Hank being involved, so one rather deafening conversation later you found yourself here- in the front seat of Hank's car, berating yourself every time you caught your eyes wandering to the rear view mirror.

You couldn't quite resist the urge to sneak glances at the figure in the back seat. Your apprehension at his presence hadn't faded though you'd resigned yourself to it in favor of staying gainfully employed for the time being. Hank had made a valiant effort to convince Fowler the both of you didn't need another partner but it was clear the captain wouldn't or couldn't be convinced. You and the lieutenant had exchanged a glance back in the office - both of you clearly highly unnerved at the situation- before he'd stormed out with a huff. His mood only soured further when Connor followed the two of you to Hank's car, letting himself into the backseat after you.

And there he sat, expression as impassive as ever, his face dappled with the subtle shadows of raindrops against the car windows. You couldn't help in those stolen looks but appreciate Connor's appearance. He was strikingly handsome in a cold, dangerous way. In a way that was hypnotizing and yet sent a chill through your veins like a warning or instinct to stay away, run and not look back. There was no running right now though. You had a job to do, and apparently so did Connor. The wisest option at the moment seemed to be to hope that his involved you as little as possible and do your best not to make yourself an obstacle. You'd already put yourself in a dangerous enough position as it was. 

"Well, here it is," Hank grumbled as he pulled up to the scene surrounded by squad cars and police tape. He threw a glance to the back seat and opened his mouth as if to add something before seemingly thinking better of it exiting the vehicle with a rounding thud of the car door. You quickly followed, slightly shielding your face from the light rain with one arm. 

The chill in the air was enough to draw you to the run-down house that had become a crime scene, but stepping in you immediately regretted all your life decisions that had led you to this point as your very being was assaulted by the most putrid miasma of death and decay imaginable. You'd been to your share of homicide scenes before and you never quite could get used to the unique perfume of a decomposing human corpse- this however, this was on a whole new level.

"Oh yeah, someone should have warned you about that. Here, best not to breathe all this in," Ben Collins greeted you and held out some face masks as you recovered from a slight coughing fit. You and Hank quickly slipped the masks on. Connor had silently entered behind you and although seemingly unperturbed by the environment, took one as well. 

It wasn't just the smell, there was mold blanketing large sections of the walls, floor, and ceiling. The sense of rot and decay was palpable and suffocating as you listened to Collins' explanation. The victim was apparently one Carlos Ortiz, found by his landlord coming by for the rent only to find his body with multiple slash wounds and a hole in his chest where his heart should be. Several neighbors said they'd seen him around as recent as three days ago but it didn't line up with the state of his body which looked and smelled like the time of death was closer to three weeks ago. 

You frowned as you took in the scene for yourself. Ortiz was splayed out near a wall in the living room, riddled with claw marks and a gaping hole in his chest. Above him on the wall was a strange symbol written in what looked to be blood, lovely. The room itself was a complete mess; along with the ever-present mold was toppled furniture, broken picture frames, and a lamp that looked to have been thrown across the room. Claw marks similar to those on the body covered much of the furniture and walls.

"We would think it was some kind of wild animal attack, but..." Collins spoke and gestured to the symbol. It resembled a cross if the horizontal line was replaced by an arrow curving upwards. 

"-wild animals don't leave cryptic messages written in blood," Hank finished for him, crossing him arms. You couldn't see a frown through his mask but knew one was there.

Trying not to gag, you crouched beside the body to get a better look. His chest, throat, and face all had jagged claw-like gashes of various depths but the hole in his chest was cleaner, and oozed an oily black substance. At this state of decay it would probably be impossible to identify postmortem wounds from antemortem, but it was hard to imagine someone had carved Ortiz's heart out so precisely while he was still alive.

"Red ice..." Hank grumbled from behind you, drawing your attention to the red crystals scattered nearby. "Seen it make people do some crazy shit but I think in this case it's the least of our worries."

You furrowed your brows. He was right, besides the obvious strange nature nature of the scene, and if you could focus past the suffocating stench of decay, there was a faint hum of magic that hung in the air. You might have written it off as Connor's presence if it weren't for the distinctive aspect it held- evoking cinnamon overwhelmed by sulfur. A brownie gone boggart, then. But you'd never seen a house boggart cause a scene like this before.

Brownies were one of the more common sorts of fairies especially for such an urban area. They would take up residence in particular buildings, usually homes, and were one of the more benign kind of fair folk, living in walls or tight spaces and creeping out only when no one was looking to tidy things up, tend to household plants, oil creaky hinges, or even do minor home repair work. Their brand of magic always left you with a feeling you could only describe as the taste and smell of cinnamon. At worst brownies could have a slightly mishchievious streak, but that was usually only if their efforts went unappreciated by humans. This was the reason you sometimes left milk under the precint's vending machine.

Brownies weren't completely harmless however. If a brownie never settled into home inhabited by people but took up residence in an abandoned building, old tree, swamp, or other wild place it was sure to become a wild boggart which could become very dangerous if they were old enough. Household brownies were not completely exempt from such a transformation. If a brownie was neglected it may become a minor household boggart, a process usually reversible if the problem was remedied soon enough. If it was outright mistreated it may become a more serious problem and become more and more dangerous over time. 

You'd even seen bodies killed by household boggarts before, usually easily written off as accidents- medications having been switched around, a heavy object falling over at the wrong time. Never the claw marks this body shared with victims of wild boggart attacks. And the mold- no one could have lived like this so had it only appeared after Ortiz's death? Boggarts specialized in filth and decay, had the mold been part of an extreme boggart temper tantrum?

You shook yourself from your thoughts and followed Hank to the kitchen. The lieutenant swung open the refrigerator door to reveal a mostly empty interior aside from some odds and ends- rotten eggs that somehow added another layer to the all consuming odor, some moldy pieces of fruit. He pulled out a carton of milk and inspected it.

"Just our luck, it's in date and hasn't even been opened up yet. How much you wanna bet it's spoiled too?" Hank held out the carton and caught your eyes in an icy gaze. 

You smirked invisibly under your mask and took the milk, "I'm not much of a gambler but quite a lot actually." Your suspicions were confirmed when you unscrewed the cap and broke the seal. 

"Definitely a boggart then," you whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one took a while, honestly updates are gonna be pretty sporadic from me in general. This one would have probably come sooner but my dog passed away and I haven't been much in a creative mood after that. Sorry Connor's like barely in this one just being quietly in the background while MC mentally infodumps exposition but there will definitely be more of him in the next part ;) This whole thing might end up being a whole lot longer than I originally thought cause certain characters yet to properly show up seem to have minds of their own lol. And you can prob tell I've ended up incorporating the original cases from the game, however a lot is actually going to be pretty different about them and don't expect this to follow the timeline of the game super closely or at all I'm kinda just taking what I can use and spinning it to fit into this world I'm building.


	4. Iron Pyrite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry not sorry (but also legit sorry I haven’t updated I just have not been having a great mental and physical health time and such. I do have plans for this story but having the time and energy to write hasn’t really been happening)
> 
> Idk if I should up the rating for this chapter maybe hmmmm.

“Definitely a what?” Connor poked his head into the kitchen, brown orbs blinking. 

“Definitely updog,” Hank muttered, failing to hide a smirk.  
“Oh I see,” Connor replied. “And what exactly is an updog?”

“Oh my god he can’t even talk enough like a normal person to get that joke to work,” Hank threw up his hands in exasperation. “Fuck, I can’t work in these conditions, I need a drink!” and with that the lieutenant stormed out.

You sighed and crossed your arms. “Uh sorry about him, you uh get used to it.”

“No need to apologize, Detective,” Connor replied, slowly inching towards you. “I’m rather glad he left, now we can be alone.”  
“Uh, a-alone?” you stuttered suddenly becoming aware simultaneously of how dangerous it was to be alone with an obviously powerful Fae whom you owed a Debt to and also how freaking hot Connor was. 

“Yes,” Connor said, suddenly grasping your arm and pulling you into his embrace. “I’ve come to Collect,” he whispered against your neck, causing an involuntary shudder to ripple through your being.  
“And I have something important to tell you.”

You knew you should break away and run, that this man spelled nothing but trouble. That you really should resist as his fingers weaves through your (h/c) tresses and toyed with your shirt buttons. But you really really didn’t want to. “What?” you dared to ask, melting into his touch.

Connor gazed at you longingly through half lidded orbs, leaving in so your lips almost brushed. “April Fools,” he whispered.


End file.
